


while you weren't listening, all our love songs became sad songs

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Five days go by, and still it feels strange.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	while you weren't listening, all our love songs became sad songs

  
maybe it's because you're one of those people that believes that sometimes,  
the most reckless thing you can do with your heart, is not being reckless with it.

\-- _pleasefindthis_

 

 

 

 

Five days go by, and still it feels strange.

Strange, how, Emily doesn't look at her quite the same, how it's rare now to see her smile. Really smile, that is, because most of the time now they're forced and tight and Naomi just wishes that she wouldn't even bother, because it's really not worth it. It's strange how something that she always took for granted is one of the things she realizes she misses the most now. It's one of the many things that she wants to have back, because really, it doesn't seem fair, except for the part where it absolutely is, and something closes up inside her and she has to turn away and stare out the window until the feeling passes, until she's forced the tears back down.

Because really, that wouldn't be fair either. Crying.

For a week, Emily sleeps downstairs on the couch. It isn't until Sunday evening, late, when Naomi's almost fallen asleep, that Emily comes padding into the room. Naomi watches silently as Emily undresses, stripping down to her knickers and tank top before crawling into bed. Naomi moves away as lightly as possible, shifting over more towards the edge of the bed until she's near enough to fall off. She expects Emily to roll over, to curl up against herself and sleep with her back to Naomi; instead, Emily faces her, lies there staring at her with an unreadable expression on her face for what feels like ages, and it's almost too much, but Naomi's also too much of a coward, and she can't bring herself to break the silence.

I love you, Emily says, and her expression doesn't change at all, not even for a second, but Naomi can feel her heart swelling up, because Emily said _love_.Not _loved_ , but the real and whole present tense and, if she thought she could, she'd reach forward and wrap her arms around Emily and hold her so tightly that Emily'd be able to feel it, the way her heart is banging so hard against her chest and how it feel like it's enough to break her ribs. Maybe then she'd understand and she'd know that Naomi's a fuck-up and a complete coward but the way she feels is still real and that's the only thing that hasn't changed, the one thing that's still standing tall amongst the rubble while the dust clears.

Except, she's ruined everything. So she can't pull Emily towards her like she wants and she can't cry or apologize or nod and say that she loves Emily back, and so she's just stuck, lying there with only inches between them. (Four inches has never felt quite so far before.) She's lying there and Emily's just staring at her like maybe she's supposed to say something, but she doesn't know if she can or even what to say. It doesn't feel real anymore, when her mouth moves and words come out; nowadays it feels like there's someone else who's controlling her body.

Emily sighs and reaches forward, brushing a strand of hair out of Naomi's eyes and tucking it behind an ear and in that moment her face softens, just for a second, and Naomi's certain that the air in the room is poison, because it hurts to breathe and her lungs won't work right. She can feel the traitorous sting of tears in her eyes and she has to close her hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palm, in order to keep them at bay.

They fall asleep like that, looking at each other. Emily first, Naomi long after, watching Emily sleep and wishing she could just take it all back; she remembers waking up with a headache and clutching a bottle of vodka to her chest and feeling so scared and confused, but needing to touch Emily anyway, needing to reach out and stroke her hair. But things are different now. Now she doesn't have to leave in order to ruin things, she just has to stay.

When she wakes up, Emily's gone. Naomi wanders into the kitchen, half-hoping Emily'll be there like she always used to be, in an over-sized t-shirt and knickers, attempting to cook them breakfast without burning the whole place down. But Emily isn't there, of course, just one of her shirts, draped over a chair. Naomi strokes her fingers along it, feels the softness underneath her fingertips and something breaks within her then, and all of a sudden tears are sliding down her cheeks and this is just so fucking _stupid_ and she doesn't know how or why she managed to let herself fuck things up this badly.

She just wants to touch Emily. Just for a second. Wants to feel her skin under her palms, wants to bury her face in Emily's hair and breathe in deeply, smelling soap and kiwi scented shampoo, wants to press her lips against Emily's and kiss her, just one more time. But she can't and it's absolute torture and it isn't until much later, when she's sat on the linoleum in front of the refrigerator and trying to pull herself together before college, does she realize that that's probably the whole point.

 

;;

 

She doesn't hate Naomi.

Not really, but she sort of does, on the surface of things. On the inside, it feels like she's been cut real deep, somehow, and she's slowly bleeding to death, and she could just _fix_ it, she knew how. But she doesn't hate Naomi on the inside, even though it hurts like hell and she's pretty sure whatever it was that's broken now can never be properly fixed again. It feels like that time when she was eleven and accidentally broke one of her mum's china teacups. It got patched up, of course, but it was never the same again. It still had that crack running down the middle of it, from where it split in two and you could still see the spots of glue, sometimes, when you were looking at it. It was never as pretty again as it was when it was whole.

(Emily loathes metaphors.)

It's been two weeks now. Nothing's changed.

A part of her knows that it's partially her fault that nothing's changed, being that she hasn't _let_ anything change. But that was always the problem, wasn't it? She was always willing to change, to give in, to just let things happen, and look at where she ended up. She thinks she was right about what she said, in the kitchen talking to her dad. She can't be strong; she can't not _hate_ herself. And then she feels stupid for thinking like that, because really _she's_ not the one who's done anything wrong here, but the thing is --

\-- She just can't bring herself to hate Naomi.

That's the problem. She said that she hated Naomi, but she didn't. The truth of the matter is she loves Naomi -- loves her to fucking _pieces_ \-- but she wishes she didn't. But she doesn't know how to turn it off, that love. Thomas said it was impossible, trying to stop loving someone; it feels truer now than it did back then, standing outside waiting for a bus with a torn shirt and no shoes and it's almost funny, now, how it felt like her life was ending then. Funny and sad and cruel and she bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying, because she can't just keep fucking _doing_ this. Feeling sorry for herself. Letting Naomi get to her. It just isn't right.

And maybe it's because in reality, it's got nothing to do with the fact that she's crushed on Naomi since primary school, when they first met, or that Naomi was her first kiss, when they were fourteen, or that she thought she knew what love was, that time when Naomi held her hand in the forest and everything was nice and lovely, right before it all went to shit. Again. Maybe the whole reason she can't let go is because she _needs_ Naomi. Because somehow, without even trying, Naomi became her whole life, and it's not fair, because Naomi shouldn't be able to have such a hold on her heart like she does. It's not fair, because it's never been equal between them, ever, and Emily's always had to chase and chase and chase and hope that maybe someday Naomi would stop running.

(She still hadn't stopped, just came up with different ways of doing it.)

(All anyone wants is for someone to notice them and tell them they're beautiful.)

All she wants is for Naomi to take some fucking initiative for once, to realize that just because Emily hasn't yet asked her to do _anything_ , doesn't mean she should just do _nothing_. All she wants is for Naomi to recognize is that there's a reason, for why she came back. Why she stayed.

It's not much to want, she doesn't think. She's accustomed to wanting much less, when it comes to Naomi. Even more accustomed to not even getting that.

 

;;

 

Seventeen days in, Emily says, We can't do this anymore.

It's on one of those rare occasions where they're both in bed awake together in the morning. It's only ever happened once before; Naomi had woken up with Emily's hair in her face, Emily's head curled up just so against her shoulder, and she'd forced herself to pull away, to roll out of bed and do something else before her heart and hands got the best of her.

But this is a lazy Saturday afternoon, and the sun's coming in through the curtains, and it feels so much like the summer, when they would spend whole days lounging in bed together, making love slowly and lazily, reading love poems out of Naomi's mum's old books with exaggerated voices and hand movements. And it's warm and nice and Emily's sort of neatly against her -- again -- and Naomi can't work up the courage (or maybe she has already, she's not quite sure) to untangle herself.

She dozes off, stroking Emily's hair.

Hi, Emily says, and startles her awake. Naomi quickly snatches her hand away, all of a sudden feeling overwhelmed with guilt. This isn't -- this isn't right, she shouldn't be allowed to feel happy. Not again. Not ever. Especially not where Emily's concerned, and it'd be a whole different story if Emily said she _could_ be happy again, and --

\-- And Emily's smiling.

It's a real smile, this time. Proper full on. And then Naomi's crying and it's stupid, because well, she's not supposed to be crying and Emily's still smiling at her and Naomi thinks about how Emily said _love_ , that Emily said she _still_ loves her, and it's really not fucking fair at all, that Emily still cares after all this time, because Naomi's been such a horrible person and in what universe would this ever be allowed to happen at all.

Except then, Emily's leaning forward and wiping away the tears from her cheeks and it's just too much.

I'm sorry, Naomi says, and really fucking means it this time, more than she's ever meant it in her whole life. I'm so sorry. I love you. And maybe it's because they've both had time to think about it, being together but still being so apart, maybe that's why Emily just nods and says, I know, as if she's just been waiting this whole time for this one moment.

But it's not that easy, Naomi, she says, after a second, and Naomi's spirits drop a little bit and her breath hitches in her throat. You know it's not that easy, Emily says, going on. But that doesn't mean I don't want to work for it. You know I can't just forgive you for something like -- well, it's going to take time. But I can't do it on my own, Naomi.

Yeah, Naomi says, sniffling a bit. Yeah, I mean, you're right. And I . . . I need you.

You always need someone to want you, Emily says, and her smile's turned a bit sad now and it makes Naomi want to start crying all over again.

But I'm better with you, Naomi tells her, and she can't stop herself from grabbing Emily's hand and squeezing it tightly. You make me want to be a better person.

Maybe, Emily says, quietly. Maybe that's true. She squeezes Naomi's hand back.

(It's good enough, for now.)


End file.
